Tuesday, April 24, 2018

How you'll be remembered

The Germans are not human beings. From now on, the word "German" is the most horrible curse. From now on, the word "German" strikes us to the quick. We have nothing to discuss. We will not get excited. We will kill. If you have not killed at least one German a day, you have wasted that day... If you cannot kill a German with a bullet, then kill him with your bayonet. If your part of the front is quiet and there is no fighting, then kill a German in the meantime... If you have already killed a German, then kill another one--there is nothing more amusing to us than a heap of German corpses. Don't count the days, don't count the kilometers. Count only one thing: the number of Germans you have killed. Kill the Germans! Kill the Germans! Kill!

Any number of things could be said about this, from a discussion of the mental problems with its author, to the justice of combining Pakistan with the descendants of someone who'd partner with this. Indeed, it is perhaps the English, with their dutiful service in Rabbifying Ireland, the centuries of worldwide expense praying for other peoples and building shrines to said Rabbi for their standardization, and their series of hideous dough-faced nobles, who have committed the greater part of the greater sins of the Aryan insomuch as delighting in what we might call ritual suicide. Particularly in how much we know from the writings of German leaders during the Israel Foundation War about how much they desired to liberate and join with Britain, as well as the implied but unknown desire of the dead Irish to join with these more-alike people across that strip of ocean to repel the goblins from further south. Didn't serve the Irish, didn't serve the Germans. On a planetary scale, maybe the masochistic affection of the Aryan for the Jew is not actually a trait of the Aryan, but of the people who became the English; maybe the pasty-faced turds that sold Rome kept moving north, and it was the Alpinic "sub-race" that tried and failed to retake Rome, and tried and failed to retake Britain, and is thus more lusty and rugged and independent than the Nordic milk-lappers and honeydogs who actually believed it all. Indeed, given the ethnic pattern of Christianity's imposition on Europe, perhaps the assumed visual similarity between the simpering Swedish homosexual and the idealistic Grecian statue of Apollo was a coincidence, rather than an accurate basis for the assumption that the long blonders deserve our retroactive racial respect.

In either case, the British prospects for survival seem no more bright than those of the Swedes or the Mediterraneans. Too many sickening loans have been taken out for financial salvation in a cosmos without bankruptcy courts, and tomorrow's harried rebels will be pleasantly freed from the desire to take tea and crackers with the permission of a clay-faced "noble" thing that mocks the idea. In the end, perhaps it really was the strain that came to call itself "English" which started this all.